


The Sweet Enjoyment of Partaking

by aidennestorm



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Desk Sex, Frottage, Light Dom/sub, Lingerie, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 09:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16808209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aidennestorm/pseuds/aidennestorm
Summary: A heated interlude in which Alex and George are so in love, even if neither of them have yet admitted it.





	The Sweet Enjoyment of Partaking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Critrawkets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Critrawkets/gifts), [dreamlittleyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/gifts).



Seven months into their arrangement (and “arrangement” is such a misnomer, because Alex is tumbling into deep, hopeless love with his dom, and though he thinks the reverse might be true, he hasn’t dared ask— fucking is easy, feeling is harder), he doesn’t think there’s anything George could surprise him with. There’s a level of trust required and achieved between them that leaves little room for unexpected revelations, and god knows their extensive sexual exploration is a given by now.

Until—

It’s a blissfully free weekend, the beginning of an all play, no work kind of Saturday evening. “Undress, Alex,” George commands with an intent, hungry gaze. It snags deep and overwhelming in Alex’s mind, as it always has since their very first moment together; he strips off his clothes with shaking fingers and drops them carelessly to the floor.

“Over the desk.”

He complies immediately, turning his back to George, bending at the waist and resting his head on his forearms, planting his legs shoulder width apart, tilting his hips up slightly to expose his ass in _that way_ that he knows, with the certainty of long practice, drives George out of his mind.

He flushes hot with praise when George softly groans “Perfect,” from a short distance behind him. Alex’s eyes flutter closed and he forces himself to rely on his other senses: the sound of George’s bare feet padding across the hardwood floor, the sharp, bright smell of his cologne, the prickle of awareness when George stops scarcely a foot away.

Clothes rustle behind him as they’re taken off and cast aside; his body thrums in anticipation of George’s touch. But instead of the warmth of skin, George’s hands rest on either side of Alex, his arms bracketing him in place, breath hot on Alex’s neck.

There’s a long moment where Alex trembles, uncertain but no less aroused— then George leans forward over Alex’s back, and his unmistakably hard cock brushes against Alex’s ass, but unexpectedly covered with something silky and soft.

“Oh my god,” Alex blurts. George abruptly stands up from the desk because Alex sounds frantic, he knows it, but he can’t stop the desperation in his voice because he has to _see—_ “Are you—”

He twists in the scant space between their bodies, trying to catch a glimpse. And yes, _there—_ before George catches him by the shoulders and forcibly presses him into the desk, one broad hand ensnaring his wrists and pinning them over his head, he sees them— black panties, perfectly cut to accentuate George’s thick, strong thighs, hints of skin visible through the sheer lace, his thick cock straining against the thin fabric.

“Oh, _fuck.”_ The desk muffles Alex’s moan as his hips shift in search of either friction or relief, because he is so goddamn achingly hard from that illicit glance alone. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

George’s free hand drops to his hip, possessively anchoring him as Alex writhes. He steps further into the space between Alex’s thighs, nestling himself more fully into the cleft of Alex’s ass, and Alex whimpers, body tight and coiling with unbearable need. George’s lips are gentle on his throat when he asks quietly, cautiously, “You like them?”

It’s enough of a hesitation that it cuts through Alex’s whirlwind of arousal, enough for him to realize… this is not stoic, controlled, always-in-charge dom George, the persona that George wears like his Balmain suit. This is the George that eats Alex's attempt at blueberry pancakes on Sundays, collects bottles of quality whiskey that he scarcely drinks but instead keeps on display purely for their artistry, the George that sneakily puts on reading glasses over the morning paper when he thinks Alex is otherwise occupied.

This is the George that closes Alex’s laptop when Alex works for over twelve hours straight, nudging plates of food and glasses of water in his direction, kneading soothing patterns into his back. This is the George that closes his hand around Alex’s at dinner, both in private and in public, and squeezes, staring into Alex’s eyes like he’s the best gift the universe has ever given him.

Alex nods vehemently, hair falling over his face in a dark curtain. _I am so fucking in love with you,_ he thinks, but what he babbles is, “Yes. Yes, sir, I love them, thank you, thank you—”

George’s broad smile brands through his skin and into his heart. Alex swallows heavily as George rocks his hips; there’s a noticeable damp spot in the fabric where it grinds against his ass, slick with precome, and Alex gasps, sharp and shattered. “Please,” he begs mindlessly, though he doesn’t know what he’s begging for, just needing George to touch him, take him, _use_ him. “Please, sir, please, I’ll do anything for you, _please!”_

The response whispered into his ear is ragged, filthy, desperate: _“Prove it,_ my boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr, with some changes made for posting here. For critrawkets, without whom this fic would not exist, and for dreamlittleyo, who always challenges me to do more.


End file.
